


Enjoying Youth

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dirty Talk, M/M, Riding Crops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent Phantomhive has a proposal for his informant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoying Youth

It was impressive to watch Vincent take on the mantle of the Earl of Phantomhive. Even at eighteen, he was serious and clever in business. Undertaker had no doubts that Vincent would be successful, both personally and business-wise.  
Vincent relied on Undertaker as an informant of sorts, but they also enjoyed a more friendly relationship. Often, Vincent invited the older man over for tea, which did not go unappreciated.  
But Undertaker's thought's often wandered.  
It was expected of Vincent to court a respectable woman and settle into married life. Vincent, however, seemed blind to even the most attractive ladies.   
Youth, Undertaker supposed, was meant to be enjoyed.  
“What are you thinking about?”  
Undertaker stared at Vincent. The younger man rested his head just so on his hand.  
“The folly of youth,” Undertaker said, shrugging.  
Vincent pursed his lips. “Don't think too hard. You look your age when you do.”  
Undertaker chuckled, he had to. Vincent knew his age and would give him no rest about it.  
They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Vincent's eyes wandered, as did Undertaker's thoughts. Finally, Vincent smiled in the subtle way Undertaker loved.  
Looking at this fragile and mortal man, Undertaker hoped he would never marry.  
“We do have some business to attend to,” Vincent whispered. “Shall we move to the study?”  
Undertaker nodded, standing slowly. He followed Vincent, trying to keep enough distance between them. Vincent paused before the door to the study, giving Undertaker a small smile.  
He opened the door, letting Undertaker in before him. As always, Undertaker ran fingers over the volumes on the bookshelves, marvelling at the dust.  
“When's the last time you actually read one of these?” Undertaker asked, pulling a thick book off the shelf.   
Vincent, locking the door, admitted, “I don't have much free time. The Queen has a long list of things she needs done.”  
“The Queen,” Undertaker scoffed, snapping the book shut. “When will you stop worrying about her?”  
Vincent, moving closer and taking the book from Undertaker, shrugged his shoulders. “I happen to like England and I would like to protect it.”  
“By mingling with dangerous criminals.”  
“I met you,” Vincent pointed out, re-shelving the book. “And I'm rather fond of you.”  
Undertaker found himself swallowing words he couldn't say. He looked down, more ashamed of his outburst.  
Vincent sat down at his desk and opened one of the drawers. “We do have business.”  
Undertaker stared at Vincent. To his surprise, the noble pulled a length of rope. He also held a riding crop in one hand.  
“Vincent?”  
“It's personal,” Vincent assured him. With an amused smirk, he stared at the man above him. “I would like to try something with you.”  
“What is it?”  
“I would like to tie you to my desk,” Vincent told him. He held out the riding crop to emphasize his other want.  
“Of course.”  
“You're welcome to speak up if things get too . . . intense,” Vincent told him, reaching a gloved hand up and cupping the other man's cheek.  
Undertaker nodded in understanding. He had no intention of stopping. He wanted Vincent and he wanted this.  
Vincent pulled away, removing his gloves. He stood and began undressing Undertaker. When Vincent gave a small huff at the layers of clothing, Undertaker smiled.  
“Aren't you ever warm?” Vincent asked, running fingers over the scar across the man's chest.  
“Sometimes,” Undertaker said, wanting more contact with Vincent's skin.  
“Wrists,” Vincent ordered.  
Undertaker held his hands out, watching Vincent bind them. With his wrists bound to the desk, Undertaker was forced to bend over Vincent's desk. Vincent's body pressed against him from behind, a hand ghosting up Undertaker's thigh.  
“You like this,” Vincent noted, cupping Undertaker.  
Undertaker couldn't do much more but sigh and nod. He did enjoy it, being at Vincent's mercy. He made a soft groan as Vincent pulled away.  
But the loss of Vincent's pressure and warmth was replaced by the touch of the riding crop. Vincent fumbled with Undertaker's pants, pulling them down to expose skin. The riding crop traced the back of his thighs and Undertaker's breath hitched.  
The sting of the crop made him tug at his bonds. But Vincent didn't stop. He continued to strike him, switching up the force of his blows.  
And Undertaker loved it.  
“You love this?” Vincent asked. His fingers touched the welts, making Undertaker hiss.  
“I do,” he said softly, turning his head toward Vincent.  
“You're awful,” Vincent told him.  
“Yes.”  
Vincent took his seat, watching Undertaker for a long while. He reached out, brushing bangs back from the man's face.   
In a voice Undertaker strained to hear, Vincent murmured, “You are handsome.”  
“Please.”  
“Please what?” Vincent, asked a smile on his lips.  
“I want you.”  
Vincent hummed, opening a drawer. “I suppose I can arrange that.”  
“Please, Vincent,” Undertaker begged, straining against the ropes. “I want you. I need you.”  
Vincent pulled a bottle of oil from the desk, smiling. He got up, vanishing from Undertaker's sight. Undertaker felt Vincent press against him, thighs stinging.  
Nudging his thighs apart with his knee, Vincent slid one finger into the man. Undertaker's breath hitched and he relaxed, making it easier for Vincent to work him open.  
“You're incredibly lewd,” Vincent noted, his breath hot against Undertaker's ear.   
Vincent's tongue ran over the shell of his ear, tracing the multiple piercings. As he slipped a second finger in, scissoring them, Vincent tugged on the bar through the other man's ear. When Undertaker bucked his hips back, Vincent added a third finger, moving quicker and rougher. Undertaker lost himself to the pleasure of it, wanting more.  
Without warning, Vincent removed his fingers and Undertaker whined. When those fingers were replaced with something bigger and warmer, Undertaker moaned appreciatively. Vincent chuckled, holding the man's hip in one hand and gently rocking into him. Undertaker moaned and rolled his hips back against Vincent, enjoying the pain and pleasure.  
Vincent began stroking him. Undertaker let out a cry and Vincent sank his teeth into the back of the man's neck.  
“I'm not—”  
“Come for me,” Vincent told him softly. “Cry my name.”  
Undertaker was focused on Vincent rocking into him, stroking him. In a strangled cry, he came, repeating Vincent's name over and over.  
Vincent came shortly after, pressing his lips to the bites on Undertaker's neck. He pulled out and helped him fix his clothes, untying him and helping him to a couch.  
“Should I have a bath made up for you?” Vincent asked. “Would you like me to tend to those marks?”  
“No,” Undertaker said, taking Vincent's wrist. “Not yet. I need a moment.”  
Vincent smiled, kissing the other man.


End file.
